Pieces of Our Hearts

By Eveline Knight

Meg Kelley finds herself employed as a paid companion to musician Cole Taylor. Can she be his friend without getting a broken heart?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eveline Knight
• Release date: Aug 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386615620

Eveline Knight

Eveline Knight has lived in the Tennessee Valley of northern Alabama her entire life and her Southern roots stretch back over 200 years. She's been writing something since she was about 10 years old. She worked for a daily newspaper for over 20 years and her day job is now with an online company. Other interests include cooking, trivia, and a deep love for good music across nearly all genres. She lives with her husband, who puts up with her writing proclivities, as well as with three cats who keep her laughing every day. https://www.facebook.com/writerchick7/

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Chapter 1

A Paid Companion?

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

August, 2017

I looked at Marty a little suspiciously. I couldn't believe what he was telling me. He'd called me into the office and told me about another job offer. Currently, I was cleaning for a wealthy LA investment banker. It was a good gig. Paid well and was keeping the rent up and the lights on. I was thankful to have it.

Hey Meg, he'd said. I've got a great offer for you. Come in and let's discuss it. I'd gone in and now here he was, telling me about some musician guy who wanted a paid companion!

"A what?" I nearly yelled it.

A paid companion, Marty said.

I arched one eyebrow. Are you serious? Really serious? I'm not servicing some guy, no matter how much he pays me.

He rolled his eyes. "I know that. You know I don't deal with those kinds of 'offers'. No, from what his personal assistant said, he's got a really bad marriage behind him, he's completely unattached, and he's looking for companionship. Nothing more. The PA said he wants someone he can watch a movie with, take to dinner, talk to... It's strictly platonic. Apparently, he's got a big house, not surprisingly, and you'd move in there, with all room, food, etcetera, covered. Even a clothing allowance. It's a sweet, sweet deal."

What's the catch? There was always a catch.

As far as I can tell, there isn't one. He shrugged. We've vetted him completely. Even the few escort services he's used have nothing but glowing recommendations. They say he was always very kind to their girls.

I shook my head. Sounds like a real prince, I said dryly. "So now, Marty. Why me? You know I'm the last girl most wealthy men are interested in. I am not the slender beach bunny type. No arm candy here."

Marty shook his head this time. Look, Meg. You're exactly what his personal assistant asked for. I don't have another name I can give him. He came to us because we have a rep for only recommending good people. No weirdos, no nutjobs. He was right. Marty was known for the quality of his hires.

"I get that. Why me? What makes my qualifications so perfect?" I was still suspicious.

All right. You're only five years younger. He was looking for someone fairly close in age. All the other ladies I could refer are under thirty. Won't work. He's 41. You're college-educated. He wants an intelligent woman, and one with some maturity. That's you, Meg. Derek — that's the PA — specifically said those were the important qualifications. Looks were secondary. And Meg, really. It's not like you're an ugly woman. You're not. So you carry some extra weight. So what? But there's no question you're intelligent and you're not some flighty kid. You're an adult woman, and that's how you conduct yourself. You don't have to accept the position, but he's willing to pay you $125,000 a year. Just for being his friend. Marty leaned across his desk, trying to emphasize the greatness of this offer. But I wasn't quite buying it — not yet.

Generally, people don't have to pay to have friends, I pointed out.

Generally, people don't have to worry about their friends telling the tabloids all about their private lives for money, either. Just go to the interview, willya? You can always say no. Now he was pleading, and he always looked a little pitiful when he did that, in spite of his Armani suits. He always reminded me a little of Danny DeVito, except taller.

I sighed. It was awfully good money. "OK. I'll go to the interview. To make you happy. So who is this mysterious musician, anyway?"

Marty grinned. I know, but I can't tell you. His PA wants to make sure you're really right for the job, and not just taking it because of who's hiring you.

This is back to sounding really sleazy. I shook my head.

It's not. I've talked to Derek several times, and it's as aboveboard as anything ever gets in this town, I swear.

The things that pass for 'normal' in L.A.... I said.

Tell me about it. Keeps me in business. Driver's waiting out front.

My jaw dropped. I'm not dressed for an interview! I just dragged on clothes and came over here!

That's what Derek wanted: the real you.

Marty Bachman, I'm gonna kill you, I said.

Wait until after the interview. You might thank me.

No, you're toast, I muttered as I walked out of his office.

On the way to Mystery Man's house, I thought about how I got here. I was 36, from north Alabama and had two degrees: one in English secondary education and a master's in occupational therapy, which paid considerably more. I'd been offered a great OT position here in L.A., but it fell through shortly after I got here, so I needed to save up some cash to either get back home or stay out here for a good while. I wasn't crazy about the idea, but I signed on with Marty Bachman's Golden Temps Company, in the hopes of picking up some decent money. I'd cleaned a lot of fancy houses the past eight months. Now this. Well, we'd see how it went.

The home we drove to wasn't massive. It was very nice, yes, and had a fantastic view of the city, but it wasn't huge. No gates at the driveway. We drove right to the front door and the Golden Temps driver handed me a card. Show it to whoever answers the door. If it gets weird, call me and I'll be here in ten minutes.

Thanks, Corky. I appreciate it, I said.

At least on the drive over, I had time to get my hairbrush from my purse, fix my hair a little and put on some eyeliner and lip gloss. Black capris and a burgundy T-shirt were going to have to be OK, because that's what I had on. I went to the door and knocked. It took a couple of minutes, but finally, a young man answered the door. He looked me up and down and I handed him the appointment card.

You must be Meg Kelley. I'm Derek Thompson. I'll be conducting your primary interview.

I see. Nice to meet you.

And you. Come in.

I followed him into the den.

Please sit down, he said. Can I get you something to drink?

Water would be fine, thank you, I said.

All right, he answered, and returned shortly with a bottle of cold water.

I thanked him, opened it and took a sip.

You're wondering about this job, I know. I don't blame you. It's a strange request, no doubt, but my employer would like a female companion he can count on to be discreet and kind. The obvious answer to me was to hire someone. Can you be both?

Yes. As long as he's kind to me. I don't do abuse. At. All. I was firm on that point.

No, no. He's not that type of man. He's a musician, and he can be moody, but he would never harm you. Ever. Let me reassure you on that point.

Verbal abuse is also off the list, I said.

Derek grinned. Yes, he has a temper, but even if he's angry with you, he'd never be abusive. If he were, I wouldn't work for him.

All right. What else does the job entail?

Be his friend. Like you'd be anyone's friend. See a movie with him. Go out to dinner. Whatever.

It was the whatever part that bothered me, and I sat back. I have to ask this, Derek. Are we talking about a platonic friendship? Is he going to expect anything else?

Derek shook his head. I understand totally. But the answer is no. I'd suppose, if you really hit it off, and you agreed by mutual consent to take it to the next level... But that would be between you two, and completely separate from anything else.

I nodded. Something rubbed against my leg and I looked down to see a large, black, furry cat. He looked up at me and meowed. Hey sweetie! I said, and reached to rub his head. Immediately, he was in my lap.

Well, that tells me something, Derek said. You like cats?

Love them, but I can't have one at my place. No pets. What's his name?

Sailor. And he doesn't just take to everyone, but he seems to like you a lot.

I grinned. Cats know who their friends are.

They do, he answered, and suddenly, he looked much friendlier. He was a nice-looking guy — average height, dark blond hair, green eyes. Well, I'm sure by now, you're very curious about my employer. And since I think you'd be an excellent person for this position, I'll be glad to recommend he talk to you and make it official.

Are you kidding? I answered, a little shocked. You think from what — 20 minutes — that I'll be right for the job?

He shrugged. I do. That's part of my job, and I'm pretty good at it. So. Would you like to meet him?

Yeah, as soon as you tell me who he is. If I'm going to freak out or something, I'd rather get it over with now and not make a fool out of myself in front of him.

Derek laughed out loud at that. Good thinking. It's Cole Taylor.

My eyes nearly popped out of my head. "From Southbound? That Cole Taylor?"

That's the one, Derek said with a smirk.

Oh my God, I breathed. Never, ever, ever did I even contemplate the idea it might be Cole Taylor looking for help. Southbound was my favorite band besides the Beatles, and Cole, naturally, was my favorite band member. I'd had a crush on him for years and years. Had all their CDs. Ever since their first hit, Take The Morning, I'd been a fan. Cole's sweet tenor on that song made my toes curl. The Almighty's sense of humor was not nice today. I had on minimal makeup and the clothes I wore to clean houses. Just my luck.

I take it you're a fan. Derek was snickering, now.

You could say that, I answered. "I sure didn't figure he'd be the mystery musician."

I can tell. Are you still interested in the job?

I am, I said, trying to sound like a mature, adult woman and not a giggly teenager.

He grinned. Great. I'll go get him. He's been anxious to know how this has gone. He was really excited about your qualifications. Oh — can you cook, by chance?

Yeah. I'm a good cook, if I do say so myself.

Terrific. I'll be right back. Derek disappeared into another room, leaving me sitting in the den to look around and think about what was exciting about me. I couldn't come up with a thing, so I examined the den again. It was beautifully furnished in shades of blue and cream, showing all the hallmarks of a professional interior designer. It was lovely, coordinated - and sterile. I suspected Cole (or Derek, more likely) just told the designer to decorate it. I doubted Cole had much input. Sailor was still in my lap, purring happily, and I scratched his ears and rubbed him under the chin, which was clearly a favorite spot.

He loves that, said an achingly familiar voice, and I swallowed hard. I turned my head to see Cole Taylor, smiling at me, looking even more gorgeous in person than he did in pictures. I started to stand, but he said, No, no. Don't bother the cat, right?

No way, I answered. Hi. I'm Meg Kelley. I held out my hand, he took it, and I almost passed out right there. I was going to have to get past this stupid rock star crush if I wanted to work for this man.

Cole Taylor. Pleasure to meet you. His pacific blue polo shirt matched his eyes. He wore his wavy, light brown hair to his shirt collar these days, and was clean-shaven. He had a longish face, which I'd never really noticed, a beautifully-shaped mouth and well, I have to say, kind of a big nose. But it gave his face character. He had a strong face, and I really, really liked it. I made myself let go of his hand and he sat next to me on the sofa. So, I know this is the weirdest, but maybe Derek's idea of hiring someone isn't a bad one. His smile was winning and I returned it, involuntarily.

It's the weirdest. I'll agree with that for sure, I replied.

He chuckled and angled himself to face me on the sofa. So here's my idea. I'm guessing Derek gave you the basics. Let's try it for six weeks. If it doesn't work out, no hard feelings, and I'll still pay you for six months.

"Six months? Really?"

He nodded. I mean, that's six weeks you could have spent doing something else. So yeah.

That's very generous.

Cole shrugged. It's worth it to me. Derek told you I'd like you to live here, too?

He did. I have three months left on my lease, so that's $3,000 to get out of it.

No problem, Cole said and nodded to Derek, who made a note.

I don't know why I thought a measly three grand would be a huge sum to a guy with the kind of money Cole surely had. Southbound had sold millions of records. All right, I answered.

So you can move in, maybe this weekend? he said.

I'd think so.

Wonderful. Derek, make sure she has someone to help her pack if she needs it. And you can look at the bedrooms and pick the one you like. Make sure she can decorate it how she wants to, he said. So would you like to see the rest of the house? Sailor's been a lazy bum long enough.

Sure, I answered. My head was spinning at how fast this was happening. I put the cat down and stood.

Cole gestured for me to follow him. We'll start here. We walked to the glass doors leading outside. Patio and pool. And of course, you swim any time you feel like it. This is your home, too, OK?

All right, I answered. Cole was a real sweetheart, at least initially. I got the impression he'd been deeply, deeply hurt, and just didn't want someone taking advantage of his good nature again. I understood that concept completely.

Did Derek ask you if you can cook?

He did and I can.

Awesome. Well, the kitchen is just in here, and he led me into a kitchen worthy of a cooking magazine. My mom's kitchen would have fit in here twice!

Wow. Incredible.

Yeah. Wish I could cook and take advantage of it. But since you can, I'd love it if you felt like cooking dinner once in a while.

Sure. If you don't mind eating Southern country cuisine. I smiled at him.

Sounds great. Where are you from? I don't think Derek mentioned it.

North Alabama.

He grinned at me. I knew it was the South. I love your accent.

Thanks.

We walked down a short hallway to another room. This is where I store my guitars and other instruments. I don't mind you coming in here at all, as long as you're careful with everything and put anything back where you found it. He looked at me as I surveyed the many instruments. Do you play anything?

Not well, I joked. I love music, but lessons never were very successful.

Maybe I can teach you some guitar — if you're interested, that is.

That sounds great. Yeah, I'd take a guitar lesson from Cole Taylor. That would be just peachy keen with me! But I was trying to act like an adult here.

He continued, My studio is in the building out back. If I'm working on an album, you can usually find me there. And you're always welcome to sit in on a session. I like the energy from someone else being in the studio, and I always appreciate honest feedback, believe it or not.

I'll keep that in mind, I answered. Like I'd ever be brave (or stupid) enough to give him my opinion on his music.

So I guess we need to go upstairs and you can pick out a bedroom. Each one has a private bath.

That's a nice thing, I said.

Yeah. One of the reasons I bought the place. He led me to the stairs and started up them. I couldn't help but take just a moment to admire the way he filled out his faded jeans as he walked. I could feel my face flushing and I caught up with him quickly. It has six bedrooms, counting mine, he was saying. My room is on the end. So just take a look and see which one you like.

I looked in all the rooms. They were all painted white, and each had a king-size bed. How about this one? I asked. It had the walk-in closet I'd always wanted in a bedroom.

That's fine. Sure you want to be so close to me? He gestured to the next door — his bedroom.

I was a little taken aback. I honestly didn't even think of that. I was thinking about that walk-in closet, I said.

His grin was a tiny bit wicked. For some reason, I even believe you. Well, let's get this out of the way. Here's my little retreat. He opened the door and I looked inside. The place was a wreck. Clothes were strewn everywhere and take out boxes were piled in a corner. He also had a keyboard and electric guitar set up.

Bet your cleaning lady hates you, I said.

That got a laugh. Yeah, I'm a slob. My mom used to rake me over the coals about it. But since you'll be next door, if I need to play, I'll put my headphones on so I won't disturb you.

I'd appreciate that.

We walked downstairs and Cole said, So, I didn't scare you off and you're going to take the job?

Sure.

His grin lit up his face and my heart skipped a beat. Great. He looked around, but didn't see Derek. I want to ask you something.

Here it comes, I thought. The catch.

I know Derek told you I'm not looking for a sexual partner, and I'm not. But I have a hard time living without any touch. If I hold your hand, or put my arm around your shoulders, or hug you, would that be all right?

Well, let me think about whether I'd mind Cole Taylor hugging me. Thought about it. Nope. Sure. That'd be OK, I said, hoping I didn't sound like a blithering idiot.

I'm glad, he answered. I knew you'd be perfect when I saw Sailor in your lap. He's a great judge of character — much better than I am, in fact.

Derek said something along the same lines about him.

That's why I hired Derek. He knows people. I want to love everybody, and sometimes I don't listen to my better judgment as a result.

I can think of worse faults, I answered.

Yeah. Hey, here he took my hands. I guess you need a ride back to the apartment, don't you?

That would be good. I tried to keep my voice even, but it wasn't easy, not with Cole's hands on mine.

All right. I'll be glad to take you back.

You don't have to. Golden Temps has a car service.

Cole smiled at me, and I could feel my heart doing a triple flip. I want to. Do you mind?

Not at all. Maybe I'd get the hang of talking to him like a regular person eventually. I just hoped I wasn't making a fool out of myself in the short term.

Great. I'll get my keys. He disappeared into another room and was back quickly. How far a drive is it? he asked.

Assuming there aren't any major wrecks, about 30 minutes, I answered. L.A. weather was great. The traffic, however, sucked.

He nodded. I think that's the story anywhere in this town. Do you have a car?

Yeah, and I forgot. It's at the Golden Temps office. So if you could drop me there, then I'll just drive it home.

Oh, no reason to do that. Leave your keys here and I'll have Derek bring it to you. Must be nice having a personal assistant.

Now that's a lot of trouble for him to go to, when I can drive it home myself. I don't expect your personal assistant to run my errands.

Cole cocked his head at me and those blue eyes were twinkling. What if I said he's now your assistant, too?

I shook my head. I'd say I'm weird about who gets to drive my car.

Cole raised his hands in mock surrender. OK. I know when to quit. But I had the feeling this wasn't the end of the conversation.

I walked out to the garage with him. Two vehicles — an older model pickup and a brand new Camaro — sat inside. I like cars, Cole said. My dad always drove a Chevrolet. He was a mechanic with the Chicago Transit Authority.

That's cool. My dad was a history teacher.

Wow. What about your mom?

X-ray tech. Yours?

She waited tables at this diner in Chicago in the neighborhood where I grew up.

I nodded. That's a tough job. I did some of that in college. Long shifts and hope the customers are decent tippers.

I know that's right. Nothing used to irritate Mom more than having a big table and a skinny tip. Really pissed her off.

Same here, I answered, having been in that situation too many times.

Well, it's warm and the Camaro has A/C. Hop in and we'll get going.

OK, I answered, and I got in and fastened my seatbelt. I looked around at the dash. This car had every bell and whistle Chevy offered. Nice, I offered.

Thanks, he said with that devastating grin. He fired up the big engine and backed carefully out of the garage. As we pulled out into the street, I told myself once more that I was going to have to get past the heart flutter I had when Cole grinned, or spoke — or was in the room.

We talked about ordinary things on the drive to the office. You know, stuff on the news, TV shows we liked — that sort of thing. We both liked cop shows and mysteries. We did actually seem to be getting along pretty well, but there's something about talking while you're driving or riding that seems to take the pressure off. When we pulled up to the office, Cole said, Hey, you know, even though I'm really glad you decided to take this job, I know it's still bizarre, and you probably want to know more about my situation. How about I pick you up for dinner tomorrow night? We can eat and I'll fill you in, and answer any questions. Does that sound all right?

I smiled at him. Sure. That sounds good.

There went that grin again. Great. About six, then?

I nodded and he took my hand, and to my absolute shock, he kissed the back. See you tomorrow then.

See you then, I said and got out of the car. I waved at him as he drove past, then went to my own vehicle, cranked it up and turned on the air. But I didn't go anywhere for the longest time. I just sat there, not believing anything that happened the whole day.

I GOT BACK TO MY APARTMENT, still feeling a little unsettled. My cell rang. It was Marty and I answered it.

Congratulations! he sang out. Derek called me to tell me you got the job. He said you were exactly who Cole was looking for!

I don't know how that happened, but yeah. Thanks. And thanks for the referral.

Oh, you're welcome. You're good PR for the company. You know, me having people on staff the stars want to hire!

I laughed at that. Marty was successful for a reason: he always kept an eye on the bottom line. All right. I'll let you know how it goes.

Please do. Talk soon! and he hung up.

I went to the bathroom and when I flipped the light on, looked critically at myself. Because I wasn't a sun worshiper, I looked younger than 36, but that was about all I could say for myself. I had good skin and good teeth. So did a prize horse. I sighed. I saw the same brown eyes, the same medium, shoulder-length brown hair, the same round cheeks, determined chin and overall ordinary face I'd always seen. I was nothing to write home about, that's for sure, and when you threw in a figure that was more dumpy than anything, well...

I shook my head. I think I'd just figured out what the catch was to this job. I was going to start having feelings for this gorgeous man, and he'd never see me as anything but his paid companion. Wonderful. Just wonderful. But if I could do it for six weeks, I'd have six months' salary, which would get me back home. And it would go a lot farther in Alabama than in Los Angeles. That was a year's salary and then some. Maybe my heart wouldn't get too badly bruised in six weeks.

Chapter 2

Getting to Know You

I SPENT THE NEXT DAY packing up my apartment. Goodness knows, I didn't have much but clothes, books and a few knick-knacks to pack, anyway. Derek called me to ask me if I wanted to accompany him to IKEA the following day, to pick out things for my room. Of course, I said I would. But this was all moving too fast.

Cole called me too, about dinner, and I nearly passed out when I heard his sexy voice on the phone. His speaking voice had a depth one might not expect, just listening to him sing. And I was so pathetic, it wasn't even funny. Have you been to Pink's yet? He referred to the legendary hot dog stand in Hollywood.

No, I haven't.

Want to go there? You have to go to Pink's at least once.

Sure. Sounds great. At least he wasn't a health food nut. Or not full-time, anyway.

See you at six, then.

See you then, I said. Well, at least dinner at Pink's wasn't very formal. Made choosing something to wear a lot easier. Black pants and a T-shirt should be fine.

When Cole got to my place, I was ready to go. At least I was able to put on decent makeup, and looked more like someone he wouldn't be ashamed to be seen with. I answered the door and again, my heart decided to turn over in my chest when I saw him. I didn't think I'd ever get over how purely good-looking he was up close. Today, he wore a dark green T-shirt and another pair of jeans. The man could wear clothes, no doubt. He wasn't a big guy; he stood maybe 5'9 or 5'10. But he was proportional. I knew he'd beefed up a little since the early Southbound days. When he was in his early 20s, he was downright scrawny looking. Now, he had some muscle on his frame — and it looked good on him. He was long-legged for his height, and his hands, equally at home on a keyboard or guitar, were beautiful. He had graceful hands. I wondered if he knew how much women noticed a guy's hands...

Hi. Come on in and I'll grab my purse, I said.

OK. He stepped inside and looked around. Reminds me of a little place I had when I first came to L.A. Except this is much cleaner.

I laughed at that and got my purse. We left and he maneuvered expertly through the traffic to the original Pink's in Hollywood. The line was long, but not, Cole said, like he'd seen it at other times. It wasn't winding around the building. As we waited, he said, Let's get it to go, and we'll go to this park that's close. Will that work for you?

Sure, I answered. We finally got our food, along with a couple of sodas, and we went to the park he mentioned. We found a table and I found out the stories were true: the hot dogs were amazing. When we finished and cleaned up, Cole sat back down and put his chin on his folded hands for a minute, apparently gathering his thoughts.

I guess you know enough about me to know I was 21 when I came to L.A. When Southbound hit, it was suddenly a different world. I lived the whole rock n' roll lifestyle: booze, drugs and lots and lots of girls. The lifestyle was everywhere, I was young and girls liked me. So, it was the stereotypical story. I finally started dating one girl steadily, and a couple of years later, we got married. I got clean, settled down, did everything I could to be a good, solid husband, but it turned out, that really wasn't what she was looking for. She wanted the high flying lifestyle. She wasn't into drugs so much, but she wanted to take a private jet everywhere. She wanted all the designer clothes and the whole Hollywood deal. I didn't need that anymore. Not like that. I found out something about myself once I stopped doing the drugs and all: I'm just a Midwestern boy. I'm not the rainbow rider I thought I was.

I nodded. Most of this, I knew. It was in the 'Rolling Stone' article. So what happened? I asked.

Well, Southbound took a hiatus. You know, we sort of laid low for about three years. But we needed to. We were all burned out. Anyway, during the hiatus, she thought we'd be traveling all over the world and living the high life, but I just wanted to rest for a while. Yeah, maybe do a little traveling, but I also wanted to do a solo album, finally, and turned out, she didn't want to be married to an actual, working musician. So she left. We tried to get back together two or three times, but it just didn't work. She wanted what I couldn't give her, so we finally separated, and after a really messy divorce, which was finalized late last year, here I am. He sighed, as if telling me the story really took it out of him. Well, I could see how reliving all that might be tough. It was, after all, an eight-year trip through hell, according to the interview in 'Rolling Stone'.

And you haven't dated or anything? I asked.

A couple of times, but it never felt right. And I always wondered if the women were going to go to some tabloid and do a tell-all. I guess, after Leila, I was suspicious of the motivations of every woman I met. I don't mind admitting I'm gun shy. Except in the very early going, it wasn't a good marriage. It took me a while, but I figured out I wasn't the nicest person when I was around Leila. We really brought out the worst in each other. It was just toxic from start to finish.

I said, I think we've all probably got a story of a bad relationship in our pasts. So you decided that paying someone was a better option.

He shrugged. "Derek did. He said someone on the payroll could sign a non-disclosure agreement, which meant she couldn't write that tell-all book, and so with that in mind, maybe I could find someone to keep me company, but who I wouldn't have to worry about. He contacted Marty since he has a reputation for hiring good people, and here you are." He smiled at me.

And here I am, I echoed. It still feels weird.

I'm sure it does. But I'm hoping once you get settled in and we kind of get a routine, that the weirdness will resolve itself. He sounded optimistic, and I wondered if I could leave after the six-week trial period, after all.

I hope so, too.

Cole looked keenly at me. I told you I always want to love everybody, and that's true, but somehow, I don't think you'd have to sign an agreement. I don't think you'd spill the beans on everything about me to start with. That's not the kind of person you are.

I was actually a little touched by his words. Still... Thanks. I appreciate that, but I'll sign an NDA if you'd like me to. I don't mind.

He smiled. We'll see, he said, his tone non-committal. He looked around. It's about to get dark on us. Guess we'd better get outta here.

Yeah, I said. The days are definitely getting shorter, even if the weather doesn't change that much.

Cole laughed. I know. I don't miss Illinois winters, that's for sure, but I do miss having four separate seasons. All the seasons just run together out here.

I know what you mean. I don't think you appreciate the good weather as much when it's always good and you don't have to suffer through a lot of cold, or intense heat, in the case of Alabama.

That got another laugh. Oh God. The South in the summer. We played dates in Atlanta and Birmingham in July and August one year. The humidity was unreal. I remember seeing one of the local weather guys calling it 'air you can wear'. It was miserable.

Yeah, we say that all the time. But the humidity really does hit you in the face when you walk outside. It's pretty bad some days.

I'd rather deal with that than two feet of snow, though. We got to the car. I'd say come on back to the house, but I know you've got a lot to do. I know you and Derek were going to look at furniture and stuff tomorrow. I wanted to tell you: get what you like. You don't have to worry about price tags.

That's really nice of you, I said.

I want you to be happy in your job.

Thanks, was all I could think of to say.

We got back to my place and sat in the car. I know there are some things you want to ask me. Go ahead. I swear I won't be offended. Getting it all out in the open is the only way to do this, to my way of thinking.

OK. I figured I'd go ahead and drag out the heavy artillery. You won't want a paid companion from now on. How long do you anticipate the job lasting?

You don't mess around, he said with a chuckle. I'm not really sure. But I promise I'll be upfront with you about it, and I won't just kick you out. I'll give you plenty of time to find another job, or whatever. You can even meet with my financial adviser about making good investments with your paycheck.

Fair enough. What if you meet someone? Then what?

"What if you do?" he shot back.

Highly unlikely. But what if you do?

Same as above. We talk it over. But why would it be highly unlikely you'd meet someone? He seemed genuinely puzzled, which was strange to me, for sure. But I wasn't getting into my stuff with him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

It just would. Moving on. Marty said something about a clothing allowance. Why would I need that?

Cole looked at me a little strangely. I do go places like awards shows, and I really hate going alone. I wouldn't expect you to pay for a dress to something like that.

"Awards shows?" I squeaked.

Yeah, you know, the Grammys, American Music Awards.... He looked at me. Are you OK? The horror must have shown on my face. I'm absolutely camera-phobic. Hate cameras, unless I'm taking the picture. Even getting me in a family picture was a struggle.

Oh Lord. I didn't even think about attending awards shows.

What's the problem with that? He sounded really confused. I guess he'd never met a woman who had no interest in being in the spotlight.

I knew I'd have to explain a little. "Look, Cole. I'm not one of these girls who wants to be on the red carpet. For any reason. That's not my thing. I am not into that. I mean, I'll go if you really want me to, but I'll go in the back door or something. I don't want you put in the position of people asking you who I am, at any rate."

He thought about that for a moment. All right. We can cross that bridge when we come to it. Again, as with the personal assistant issue, I got the impression he'd just shelved the discussion; it could be revisited any time. My answer wouldn't change, though. But, if you think you might need something special, just hit Rodeo Drive and get it.

Thank you. I'll remember that, I said, trying to sound cordial, but something in my tone made him look carefully at me.

I can afford it, if that's what you were wondering, he began.

I nodded. I know you can, and it's very kind of you to offer. I left it there.

He didn't. But... I hear the 'but' in there.

It's honestly not important. Rodeo Drive didn't cater to women with my — body style. No getting around that issue.

It sounds important to me, he said.

Doggone his hide. I knew he was just being nice, but I didn't want to discuss that with him. Not today. Not any day. I bit back a tart reply. It's really not a big deal. Thanks so much for dinner. I enjoyed it. But I do need to get to work on packing.

I could tell my reply frustrated him a little, but he said, Will you need any help?

With packing, no, but with the moving, yeah. That would be good.

All right. I'll get something worked out. I'm sure I'll talk with you tomorrow. I enjoyed dinner, too. He leaned to kiss my cheek and I know I blushed, only it was too dark for him to see.

I said good night as I got out of the car and gave him a wave as I went into my apartment. I heard the Camaro pull away with a small sense of relief. As I went in, I was thinking some things were on a need to know basis — and he didn't need to know too much. My body issues were definitely in that category. Certainly nothing I needed to discuss with Cole. Ever. Not if I could help it.

SINCE THE MAJORITY of my decorating anywhere I'd lived consisted mostly of seeing what any given thrift store had, with occasional trips to Walmart, IKEA was the last place I ever went to see about getting furniture. I'd looked at their online store for ideas, but I was overwhelmed when Derek and I went to pick out a whole bedroom and bath — whatever I wanted and liked. That was a first. I don't remember how long we stayed, but it was a while. We even ate lunch at their cafe.

As we ate, Derek said, I got the impression from Cole that dinner went well last night.

Does he tell you everything?

He grinned. Some things, yes. Some things, I have to infer from what he doesn't tell me. He did mention you kind of freaked a little at the idea of going to a major event with him, like the Grammys. He seemed pretty surprised.

I pushed my salad around on my plate for a minute. I'm not a red carpet person, I answered.

That doesn't surprise me. It's actually a plus, in my book. Fame doesn't impress you, and he really needs people in his life who aren't impressed by it.

What about you? What do you think of fame?

Derek shrugged. In a lot of ways, it sucks. I'm used to it because of what I do for a living, but I have no desire to ever be famous. I like having a life. But with you, there's more to it than that.

You think so? I said. I wasn't getting into my stuff with him, either.

The other thing that surprised him was your complete lack of enthusiasm for shopping in Beverly Hills. He said you wouldn't even discuss it.

I snorted. Well, I know he's probably rarely met a woman who wouldn't jump at the idea, so I can see why he was surprised. I'm not those women.

This time, Derek chuckled. I know. That's why I recommended he hire you. But I know why you weren't interested in the shows, or the shopping.

Oh really? Let him play 20 Questions (or 20 Guesses). I wasn't taking the bait.

He nodded. I'm not stupid, Meg. I've been doing the PA thing for about 15 years, and I'm pretty good at it, which means I've learned to read people fairly well. You have to in my line of work. And I'm not a half bad detective. You have a pretty active social media profile, but you're very careful about what you post. You never post anything that personal. I saw a response you made to someone that essentially said, if you wouldn't want it on the front page of the paper, don't put it online.

That's just common sense, I replied.

"So true. But there's something else. You have a lot of photos online: of your family, trips you've taken, things like that. But in all those photos, there are none of you. None. In fact, I had to go scouring the internet to see if I could actually find a picture of you. There was one; it was made at the high school where you taught English a few years ago. One picture."

So? That's not incriminating evidence.

No, it's not, but it is telling. People who don't get in pictures, ever, usually have a reason. And it's generally because they don't like the way they look. So, they don't have pictures made. I have a feeling that seeing yourself in an online gallery with Cole would be the stuff of nightmares for you. He sat back and looked at me keenly. Fortunately, I learned to keep a poker face years ago.

I don't want to put Cole in the position of explaining who I am. 'Paid companion' isn't exactly what you say to the reporters, and I don't want him to feel he has to lie. To say nothing of some self-appointed style maven making jokes about his lack of taste in females. Cole deserved better than that.

Derek shook his head and whistled low. Lady, you are one tough nut to crack.

I acted as if he hadn't said a word. So. I didn't ask. What about health insurance?

He looked startled. Same as the rest of the people who work for Taylor Music, Inc. I'll get a packet for you. Premiums are all paid by the company.

Sounds good.

It is. He sat for a minute, then said, I want to tell you something. You need to understand this. Cole isn't going to let you maintain a professional distance. He considers everyone who works for him or with him to be family. It doesn't matter if you clean the pool or go to dinner with him. You're family. He's genuinely interested in his people. That tough guy facade he puts up in interviews is just that. I mean, you know how personable he is.

He's very personable. I like that about him, I answered. I can tell it's not an act.

"Not at all. And because he's interested, he's nosy. He wants to know what's going on with you. With everyone. I know from your social media that you seem to be a very private person. And that's fine. But Cole can be like a dog with a bone. He wants to know you."

I'd already picked that up about my new employer. He knew how to put up walls, but he didn't like to do it. And he didn't want people close to him putting them up, either. Thanks for the heads-up, I said. "I am a private person. I open up when I feel like it, and only then, and only to a few people. I don't know Cole anything like well enough to open up like that to him. And I may never know him that well. What he needs to know about me, he'll know. What he doesn't need to know, he won't."

Derek gave me a rueful grin. That's going to drive him crazy. I can tell you it is.

He's a big boy. He'll get over it, I answered.

It's going to be interesting, that's for sure.

You hired me.

He laughed at that. And I'm glad I did. He needs someone who'll tell him to knock it off when he starts acting like a rock star.

No problems there.

Oh, I can see that. Ready to do a little more shopping?

Sure. I guess so.

When I'd spent more money in one day than I'd ever spent at one time in my life, we finally left. Derek said they'd have it all delivered to Cole's place and it would be set up when I moved in on Saturday. As I drove back to the apartment, it dawned on me how much my life was about to change. And I had no idea whether it would be a good change or a bad one.

Chapter 3

Walls of Heartache

I'D TOLD MY MOM THAT I had a new job, but I was very, very vague on the details. She just seemed happy that I had steady work. I knew she wanted me to come back home, though, and I wanted to go. But I couldn't — not right now. I promised her I'd be home for a little while at Christmas, though. I figured Cole wouldn't mind. I'd wait to tell anyone else until I was more certain of what was going to happen with this whole paid companion thing.

I was up early Saturday morning, getting all the last things packed into boxes and loading up my car. Since my apartment was furnished, at least I didn't have to move sofas and chairs. I had my car completely loaded by about eight, when I saw Cole pull up in his truck. It was a dark blue, late 90s Chevy Silverado. It was the last truck his dad owned, I found out, and Cole was pretty attached to it. I understood.

He hopped out of the cab and saw me carrying another box to the front lawn. Good morning, I said.

Good morning. Looks like you're about to get this done.

More boxes inside. If you want to get these in your truck, I'll go move the others to the lawn. Thanks for helping me!

You're welcome.

I went inside, but stood out of sight of the doorway and watched as Cole picked up two boxes and walked to his truck. He must have twenty pairs of faded jeans. With those along with his gray Chicago Bulls T-shirt and white Nikes, he could have been any man anywhere, except a much better looking one than most. He wore classic Wayfarer sunglasses and looked about 30 or so. Nothing close to his actual age. I had to look like I was still working, so I took two more boxes out and went back inside. I looked around. Looks like I had about seven or eight more boxes and a couple of 30-gallon plastic tubs.

You collect concrete or something? he said.

I laughed. No. You ran across my books.

He looked for the first time at all the boxes labeled books, then looked at me. You didn't tell me you needed an extra room for a library.

Got one? I said, teasing.

Yeah, actually I do. Want it?

I was a little taken aback. If you don't mind letting me use it.

It's empty now, so no, I don't mind. You want to put a couple of chairs in there?

Sure, if that's OK.

Cole took his sunglasses off and rubbed the sweat from the bridge of his nose. Meg, it's your home, too. You can move in some chairs if you want.

I guess that idea's going to take some getting used to.

He nodded. I guess it will. He grinned and suddenly looked a lot like the Midwestern kid who probably broke a lot of hearts at his high school. Let's get the rest of this moved, how about it?

Just waiting on you, I said.

"Waiting on me? You're the one who was standing in the doorway, watching me work!"

I was making sure you were doing it right, I shot back.

You've got a smart mouth, he mock-groused as he hauled another box to the truck.

Get used to it, I answered with a grin. 'Cause it's not going anywhere. A smart mouth was sometimes my best and only defense. Because, sometimes, when you're a fat girl, being a bitch is the only armor you've got. You don't have beauty or a sexy body, and God knows those guys don't respect intelligence, so what's left? Yep. You can either draw into yourself or brazen it out with an acid tongue and a bad attitude. Although my default setting was to avoid conflict if possible, I could produce both the tongue and the attitude at a moment's notice when required. I hoped I'd never feel I had no other choice where Cole was concerned. An acid tongue could hurt, and I knew how to use it.

Finally, I locked the apartment for the last time and left the key at the office. I was a little relieved, because I knew my days of struggling to pay bills were over — in the short term, at least. But mostly, I was anxious. The job that seemed so weirdly interesting just a couple of days ago now seemed more than a little overwhelming. I didn't quite know how I'd cope with it.

Two guys Cole introduced as being with his road crew met us at the house and started unloading boxes. All I had to do was direct them. I followed Cole to the room he said I could have as my library. It was on the ground floor, next to his music room. Any noise in the music room shouldn't bother you. It's soundproofed, he told me. Well, that was good to know. The future library was a plain room with no furniture, but it would look great when painted and sporting nice bookshelves, a couple of cozy chairs and a cheerful area rug.

I made it upstairs and opened the door to my bedroom. Lord, what you could do with an interior decorator! Everything I bought for my room was inside, with lovely touches I'd never have thought of on my own. I put my laptop on the desk and looked around. The bathroom was ready too, and all kinds of shelving and organizers were in the closet — the walk-in closet. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I knew myself well enough to know most of my clothes would probably spend most of their time lying on the floor of said closet, but maybe I could learn to be a little neater. Cole's cleaning lady didn't need to deal with two slobs.

With the last boxes unloaded, either in the library or my bedroom, Cole ventured upstairs to check on things. Everything all right? he asked.

Great. Just have to get all my clothes sorted and in the the closet, mostly. I'll probably be unpacking for a couple of weeks as I need things.

He smiled. Good. He looked around. I like seeing another of these rooms with some life in it. I like the color of these walls, now, too. They're just barely gray?

With a tinge of a pink undertone. Just to warm it up a little, I answered. It matched the color scheme of gray and pink in the decor, with some browns and teals to liven it up.

It's nice. Cole took another couple steps into the room. I'm glad they got your TV up. Of course, we've got wireless Internet through the house. Derek was supposed to leave a sticky note with the password.

He did. I found it, thanks.

Sure. He looked around more and I glanced at him, from where I was putting clothes on hangers.

Something wrong?

No. I just like the thought of having someone else in the house all the time.

I nodded. I'm sure it gets a little quiet with just you rattling around in this house. I knew it had to.

It really does, he answered, as if looking around for a little courage. He came over to me and put his hand on my shoulder. I turned to him and immediately lost myself in those spectacular eyes. As deep-set as they were, you couldn't always see their expression, but his head was at the perfect angle for me to see them clearly, and their blue was mesmerizing. Thank you for deciding to do this. I know it wasn't easy. I'll do my best to be a good roomie, he said with a smile that just about dropped me to the floor.

Same here, I said with a grin I hoped wasn't too goofy. Then, he put his arms around me and folded me into a delicious hug, pulling me flush against his solid, warm, delectable body. I tentatively put my arms around him and he responded by putting his cheek against my hair. I'd have been content to stand there all day, but he finally drew back.

Thank you. So I have a question.

What's that? I said with a half-smile.

What does an occupational therapist do, really? he asked.

I thought a moment. Well, different things, but essentially, it boils down to helping people function better in any given environment. OTs work with developmentally challenged people, the elderly, people with brain injuries — you name it.

Wow. So who have you worked with? I mean, what kinds of people? He sat down at my desk.

A fair variety. I did my internship at the VA hospital in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, working with brain-injured vets. That was tough, but very rewarding. I've also worked at an inpatient treatment facility for people with substance abuse issues, and I've done private practice with autistic children and adults.

He looked impressed. That's amazing. Why would you leave that kind of job to work for a nutball musician with a soap-opera life?

I smiled at him. Burnout happens in that profession, too, especially among the populations I worked with. I taught high school English for four years and worked on my OT degree and certification during that time. Then, I worked full-time as an OT until my job here fell through about eight months ago. I got a job with Marty's company and I've been cleaning houses for a while, trying to save up enough money to go back home.

I'd have thought you could have gotten another job in your field.

Not around here. At home, yeah. Places are screaming for occupational therapists. But it takes money to go back. I'd planned on leaving when my lease was up. I couldn't break it and still have enough to go home.

Cole nodded. So how long will six months' pay from here last you in Alabama?

"More than a year. The cost